memoir – Feminism and Religion

Reflections On Bone Black: Memories Of GirlHood by Zoe Carlin

Bell Hooks explores in the memoir Bone Black: Memories of Girlhood the extreme effects of race, gender, and class on her identity and self esteem as a Black woman. Each chapter of Bone Black showcases stories of Bell Hooks’ childhood experiences growing up in a racially segregated environment. Through these experiences, she shares how the mainstream beauty standard, the racism towards Black people, and the limitations imposed by class and gender have shaped her perceptions of herself and her worth. Hooks also discusses how white supremacy, the patriarchy, and societal neglect intertwine.

What particularly stood out to me is how her story and the themes mentioned connect to spirituality and are offering further ideas on resistance and empowerment. It also touches on connections with identity formation and our sense of self. For example, the memoir shared insight of how the beauty standards at the time were typically associated with being white. As a Black woman, Hooks shared how she had felt undesirable due to not being included in these standards that were set in place. She does not just reflect on the pain of being marginalized but she also delves into the complexity of being a Black woman in a masculine dominated world. Hooks had to navigate both the oppression of racist behavior by others around her and the misogyny of a patriarchal system that was determined to define her worth based on her appearance.

WHEN I SAY THAT I MISS MY MOTHER (THIRTY YEARS AFTER HER DEATH), WHAT PRECISELY AM I MISSING? by Rebe Huntman

On the eve of my 50th birthday, I found myself longing for my mother. She’d been dead thirty years—so long that I’d forgotten the sound of her voice or the temperature of her skin. And yet I missed her. Desperately. Shamefully.

The shape of that missing had something to do with the fact that I was nearing the age she’d been when she died. As a child, I’d watched my mother dress for a night of dancing with my father, lining her lips with red and stringing her neck with beads—sure signs she knew the secrets of being a woman: self-possessed; striding through the world with confidence and self-assurance; a real badass!

By now, I’d expected to feel that same sense of largesse. But the truth was that I still felt like the nineteen-year-old version of myself who had lost her mother, a child still waiting for someone to show me the way.

~*~

I wasn’t alone. My whole country seemed to have lost our way. We were surrounded by images of the feminine—pop icons and underwear models, feminists and porn stars, soccer moms and saints—all of them flashing large but pointing in different directions, unglued from whatever architecture might give them a coherent narrative: A blueprint that might hold us through the waters of our deepest anxieties. A guide who might answer our deepest questions: Who am I? Am I part of something larger than my own life? And if so, how do I fit within it?

~*~

The Mothers, the Goddess, Lost and Found, part 2 by Elizabeth Cunningham

Excerpts in two parts adapted from My Life as a Prayer: A Multifaith Memoir. Part 1 appeared yesterday. You can read it here.

The Goddess finds me

Between the birth of my son and the birth of my daughter, I had a second miscarriage. The signs that something was wrong were subtle at first. I drove myself to a doctor’s appointment, hoping to be reassured that everything was all right (though I already sensed it wasn’t). En route to the office, perhaps to distract myself, I pondered why it was that I had never written about the church, or Christianity. Then…

I turn onto the main street. I glance at an old clock tower, and there she is superimposed against it, huge, big as the sky, vast as the earth.

I hear her voice.

“You have been searching for me all your life.”

She speaks inside me, all around me.

“The wild mother, the witch in the wood.” [She shows me the stories I’ve written.] “You have been searching for me all your life.”

The Mothers, the Goddess, Lost and Found, part 1 by Elizabeth Cunningham

Excerpts in two parts adapted from My Life as a Prayer: A Multifaith Memoir
(Note: Both excerpts have been edited for brevity)

The author’s mother as an architectural student.

The Mothers

When I was fourteen years old, I had a dream. I was pregnant and riding a donkey through a landscape, all golds and browns, hills crowned with ancient trees. I arrived at a monastery where monks with brown hands helped deliver my baby. From that time on, I longed to have a child.

My first pregnancy ended in miscarriage. I was devastated. Not only had I lost my longed-for baby, I had always taken my body for granted. Despite illnesses and injuries, I had assumed my will and my body’s health and strength were one. Now I knew in my own flesh that I was not in control; doing all the right things (thinking all the right thoughts) could not save me from sorrow. I sat in my own small version of Job’s ash heap.

My Life as a Prayer by Elizabeth Cunningham, book review by Janet Maika’i Rudolph

Our own FAR sister, Elizabeth Cunningham has written her marvelous memoir which came out yesterday. It is titled My Life as a Prayer with the subtitle, A Multifaith Memoir. For those of you who may not know Elizabeth, she wrote regularly for FAR for many years. She is the author the The Wild Mother and the award-winning Maeve Chronicles. Her Chronicles envision the Celtic Mary Magdalen named Maeve. Throughout the four books of the Chronicles, Maeve is filled with vivacious energy and her own life of spirit. The books are Magdalen Rising, The Passion of Mary Magdalen, Bright Dark Madonna and Red-Robed Priestess (which in full disclosure is one of my favorite series of all time.)

In My Life as a Prayer, Elizabeth’s writing is lush and poetic, clever and clarifying, multilayered and depthful. I hope I can convey all those elements in this short blogpost?

Exposure by Elise M. Edwards

Before I feared too much disclosure, but now I seek to channel revelations of personal experiences into exercises that inform the moral and intellectual agency of everyone in the classroom, including me.

I have always been a bit nervous when people share personal experiences in non-intimate settings. For the past several years, I’ve been in an academic environment where people routinely discuss and reflect upon significant life events. There were times that I was very uncomfortable listening to classmates discuss abortions, first sexual experiences, and encounters with racism. Even though they did not use graphic or disturbing language, I questioned the appropriateness of sharing intimate details of one’s life in a classroom.

So when I was preparing to teach my own course on Christian Ethics, I was careful to define a course policy that related to sharing and participation. In part, it reads: “While students are encouraged to use the course material to reflect on their own experiences and develop their own theological-ethical perspectives, sharing intensely personal reflections is not required – in fact, it is discouraged to maintain the professional atmosphere of the classroom.“ In class, we discuss conceptions of God and religious faith as they are applied to complex issues like sexuality, racial reconciliation, war, and medicine. The potential for conflict and personal attack is always present in the classroom because we often have deep commitments and personal beliefs on these issues, so I wanted to curb the amount of personal reflection that occurs in the corporate setting.

Over the course of the semester, though, my perceptions have changed due to well-written memoirs and personal statements I have read recently, the profound statements my students have shared, and the teaching philosophy I am developing. Whereas before, I feared too much disclosure, now I seek to channel revelations of personal experiences into exercises that inform the moral and intellectual agency of everyone in the classroom, including me. Continue reading “Exposure by Elise M. Edwards”